Clarence's Story
by GabyGal
Summary: First of my "Obscure Characters" series, about one of the Hoovervilleites: How he got there, how the 59th Street Bridge Hooverville came together, et cetera.


_Clarence's Story_

"Annie"

_Note from the author: In every production of Annie, I've found a Clarence. This is a pet name for one of the Hooverville-ites. Somehow, there's always a man who, during their feature song, stands out as my secret favorite. All Clarences even seem to look similar to each other. He is based mostly on someone in particular from one production in particular, but still, there's always a Clarence in the background. This is his story._

"_We'd like to thank you Herbert Hoover_

_for really showing us the way_

_You dirty rat, you Bureaucrat_

_you made us what we are today!"_

"And how is my dainty little doorwoman this fine day?"

Margaret looked up from her desk at a smirking – when was he _not _smiling in that way of his? – Clarence Montgomery, his lucky black derby tilted slightly atop his brown ringlets.

"Perfectly fine, thank you, Clarence." Margaret tilted her head of curly blonde hair and grinned. _Like the gals in movies_, thought the man, _only in color_.

"Break any new barriers in the world of working women today?" he joked.

"Hmm… No, not that I know of." She giggled. "Where you off to?"

"Taking a Sunday afternoon stroll. I wanna breathe in some of that glorious smoky air, thrill at dodging cars, knock into as many other New Yorkers as I can! Care to join me?" He raised an eyebrow.

"And how would it look," Margaret pronounced, "if I left my post?"

Clarence laughed and started for the front door of the apartment building, buttoning his suit jacket as he went. "I'll see you soon!"

He was twenty-five, and well off. He'd inherited a great deal of money from his father at his death two years earlier – his mother had died, too, back when Clarence was ten – and worked as an assistant to a bank manager, his kind boss, Mr. Edwin Allen. He was also a notorious flirt, though not in a sleazy way. People loved him for being charming and an expert at good-natured wit and sarcasm.

59th Street had been home to him for as long as he could remember, and a "Sunday afternoon stroll" along it was just what he needed. Clarence inhaled the September air. October was creeping up on New York City, and it was the best time to observe the crimson leaves on the trees and enjoy the weather before it became icy.

After he'd gone a few blocks, he crossed the street and went back along the other side. A man close to his age sat in a lump on the sidewalk, with a torn coat on and thick stubble. One of quite a few homeless beggars in the city.

"Penny, sir?" the young man asked once Clarence had come within a few feet of him.

"You've caught me on a day when I've got a _dime _in my pocket to give away," Clarence said with a smile. Who was he to let the poor man starve? He fished in his suit pocket and brought the coin out.

"…You look like the kind of man who _always_ has a dime in his pocket," the beggar said with interest, in awe of this generosity.

"Spend it well," Clarence said with a tip of his hat.

"Oh, I will!" The young man grinned and watched him walk away.

A few weeks after this, Clarence came into work at Edwin Allen's Bank. He was greeted by Mr. Allen himself.

"Morning, sir!" he said brightly, tipping his derby.

"Hello there, Clarence – how's life and finance treating you?" Edwin asked.

"Fine, as always." He smiled.

Just then, another of Edwin's assistants, Jack, came rushing by. He was new on the job, and was an aggravating perfectionist.

"Mr. Allen, sir," he greeted in his hurried way, nodding to Clarence, "I'll finish up that paperwork right away, just, the typewriter jams so dreadfully, and…"

Edwin put a hand to Thomas's shoulder. "It's fine, Jack. Take your time and get it done."

"Yes sir!" Jack nodded and hurried back out of the room.

As soon as he'd left, the men laughed.

"I just can't get him to calm down," Edwin said, shaking his head.

"Well, he _is _a Republican – they're _efficient_, you know!" Clarence said.

"As the day is long." Mr. Allen said, mockingly solemn.

They went to work. Both joked like this often, being Democrats. The latest president, Herbert Hoover, was one they were more than skeptical of.

"What's the date, Mr. Allen?" Clarence asked a few minutes into the work day.

"Hmm… October 24th."

"Thank you."

Just then, a good friend of Mr. Allen's – Clarence had met him before; George? Joe? Something like that – who worked on Wall Street and came by once in a while to see how things at the bank were holding up burst through the heavy wooden doors of the bank. He ran up to them.

"Edwin! You need to come with me. Quickly! You, too, Montgomery, and everyone here!" He pulled at Edwin's arm.

"George, what in blazes has gotten into you?!" Mr. Allen shouted.

_George, that was it_, Clarence thought at the back of his mind. At the front of his mind was the same question his boss had asked aloud.

"Just _come_! All of you! Follow me! And hurry!"

He ran out to his car, and the bank employees hopped into their own cars and zipped behind him, ran behind the throng of vehicles, or jumped onto one and held on for dear life. Clarence was one of them. He clambered to the top of the car containing his boss and, clutching his hat, was almost thrown off as they flew around corners to Wall Street.

Clarence's eyes widened. They found themselves in the middle of a _huge_ throng of people gathered in front of the New York Stock Exchange.

He jumped off the car and placed his hat back on his head, pushing through the crowd. It was mainly businessmen like him, or more so like his boss. They were all yelling and asking each other questions that none of them could answer.

Somehow, Clarence caught up with Mr. Allen towards the front of the cluster. "What happened?!" he asked him above the noise.

There came no answer. Edwin looked shocked and pale. He knelt on the ground with his head in his hands as though he were at a gravesite.

Someone tapped Clarence's shoulder, and he turned.

"It collapsed," the stranger explained shakily, "the whole system, it just... Everything's falling. The prices, I mean. We're all losing fortunes by the second."

For a moment, Clarence stopped breathing. His heart slowed. He froze. After remembering to, he took an unsteady gasp of air and looked past the throng at the building. Out here was shock and distress, but inside was nothing but pure panic. Now, all the ones outside were simply waiting for that panic to hit them.

It did. One by one, the people in the crowd reacted, similarly to Edwin, vocally, or otherwise. Clarence found himself unable to do anything but watch. This couldn't be happening. He can't possibly have just lost…

What was it? He calculated in his head, and his blood ran cold. Nearly four thousand dollars worth in stock, it'd be by now. _Why _did he have to put so much of his father's fortune into the market?! …Oh, right. Because he'd trusted them there. Clarence, like so many others, had been convinced that their money would be perfectly fine in the stock market. Of course, the government _had _been much more trustworthy then. Coolidge, now _there_ was a man who could keep the economy safe. Now, with Hoover not even a year in office, a downturn like this just hadto be a sign. At least that's what Clarence was thinking at this news.

"M-Mr. Allen?" Clarence struggled to say, bending down to his boss's ear. "…Just how…h-how much are you losing?"

Edwin gulped. Without looking up, he answered, "Just enough to ruin me, I'm guessing."

They stayed there in the middle of the pandemonium for a moment, until Edwin mustered speech again. "Go on home."

Clarence obeyed. On his way into the building, he bumped into Margaret, looking frazzled, rushing out of the doors.

"Oh! …Clarence, have you heard?! Oh, you must've, at the bank…" she trailed off when she took a good look at him. He looked terrible. Pale as snow, with circles under his eyes as though he hadn't slept in days, though she'd seen him only an hour ago.

Margaret threw her arms around him, but he didn't focus on enjoying this gesture. He couldn't stop thinking about what the stranger had said: They were all losing fortunes by the second.

Woozy, he pulled away from her, shook his head, and went into the building and up to his home, feeling luckier than ever to have a home.

It felt like being in a dream. A nightmare. The stock market couldn't just go and fall into a pit like that. There would've been fair warning. True, stocks hadn't been at their best, but they flew up and down all day long without anyone taking too much notice, not even the big, important businesses that'd placed their initials up there. Now, they were plummeting, and _everyone_ took notice. There was no way to stop it.

The next day, Friday, was worse. Clarence came into the bank to find a cluster of regulars in a miniature riot in front of the line of desks. He spotted Edwin, in the middle of it all, trying to calm the crowd. It didn't take long to figure out what they were there for. Everyone who was losing a risky amount of money was scrambling to take all their extra funds out of their accounts at once, needing what they'd saved up for basic survival.

Clarence rushed to his boss's side. It took every staff member at Allen's to grant the wishes of the group, and once they were done and the patrons had gone, they all exchanged forlorn looks.

Mr. Allen exhaled. "I don't know what we're going to do, boys."

George gave them updates on the market every day, but it was clear that their money wasn't going to be rescued.

The Sunday after "Black Sunday" (the Thursday of the crash and the days afterward had all been dubbed Black) seemed even gloomier than the past week, Clarence noted as he shuffled to the bank. Normally, Edwin and his employees took Sundays off, but he'd called Clarence and asked him to stop by as soon as he could.

He passed Jack, who was just leaving, on his way in.

"What did he need?"

Jack shook his head solemnly and kept walking.

Worried, Clarence dashed into Edwin's office.

"Sit down," his boss invited dejectedly. He obliged and took off his derby, nervously turning it in his hands.

"…The bank's lost a lot these past few days," Edwin said.

"I know, sir."

"I'm the only one to manage it, to control it…to keep it going… Clarence, this is incredibly difficult for me to say, but –"

"You're running out of money?" Clarence prompted.

"…Well, yes, but you knew that. The thing is… I want to try my hardest to not let this bank close down. I can't let my loyal clients down. But that means cutting down on expenses. And…" Edwin stared at his desk rather than look Clarence in the eye, "…Letting a few people go."

Clarence could barely breathe.

"…I'm afraid you're one of them, Montgomery."

After a moment of stunned silence, suddenly, Clarence fumed. This couldn't happen to him. This could _not _happen to him.

"Mr. Allen, I am a loyal member of this business –"

"I understand that, but –"

He stood. "Everyone lost money last Thursday, and everyone's _still _losing money, and you think firing all of us will _help _matters?!"

"Clarence!"

"No, I'm not finished!" he shouted down at his boss. Then, embarrassed that he would do that to him, his good friend and employer, he blushed and steadied himself. "…Mr. Allen, without this job, I won't have _anything_. In a matter of months, I'll be…I'll be penniless."

Edwin rested his head in his hand. His face was as red as Clarence's, but for different reasons. "…I'm sorry, Clarence," he said softly, "I'm truly sorry."

Miraculously, Clarence was only jobless for five days. Mr. Allen came to his apartment one day to update him on the bank (it didn't look like Edwin Allen's was going to survive the Crash) and to tell him about a friend who was hiring an assistant at another small bank. His last one had fled the city in ignorant hope that he could run away from the debts that had fallen into his and so many others' laps.

Because of his connection with Edwin, Clarence was given the job. His new employer, Mr. Henry Herrington, was incredibly cross – not only because of the state of the stock market, which he, being a 1929 bank manager, had invested so much in, but also because it was his nature.

Herrington, like Edwin, had dropped many of his workers to save money over the past week. That meant a huge workload for Clarence.

"Sir," Clarence would beg, "Please just let me finish that first list before I take on another. I've got everything sorted, I'll be done in a snap, I promise –"

"You're lucky to even have a job, Montgomery!" Henry would interrupt, "And I'm lucky to be keeping this business running at all! If you're going to start slacking off, I'll throw you out without a dollar to your name!"

He barely had a dollar already. It astonished him how he, Clarence Montgomery, could go from fairly wealthy (winters in the tropics, summers at the shore…) to dwindling into lower class, all because of the hopeless economy. The Black Days. The Crash. He and too many others.

More ominous months in New York passed. 1930 began. At the end of March, Herrington's Bank was boarded up, and Clarence silently shuffled towards his home. On the way, he stopped at Allen's, only to find that its fate had been the same. There had been no sign of Edwin for days.

Not even Clarence could perfectly maintain his sense of humor. His sarcastic quips about President Hoover were becoming more accepted. At a meeting of old friends from the money-managing world, all of whom were now out of work, Clarence and the other men were all in agreement.

"Triumph over poverty, my foot!" Clarence said. The others nodded. "Any day now, we could all be on the street. How will that look to our dear Mr. President?"

"Like Wall Street littered all over the city," one said.

"Hah. But it isn't Wall Street's fault, now, is it? Let's be fair," Clarence said. "Think of who's really to blame… The one whose lies and broken promises have shot his country into this mess!"

The others cheered.

Soon, the party was breaking up, and Clarence was setting for his building.

"Hey there, you've got a tear in your glove," another of his friends said.

"…I do." He gave a hint of a laugh. "Well, what's a little tear in a glove when you've got a warm apartment to go to, eh?"

The warm apartment Clarence was so grateful for only lasted him a bleak two years. That same date in 1932, the nation was plainly in a depression. Clarence and every other unemployed man in the city was scraping for a few bucks for rent, food, clothing, et cetera. At least Clarence had the rest of his inheritance, but that was down to its last hundred or so dollars.

On that day, he'd taken one of his walks around the block – there were more and more beggars each day, it seemed – and returned to find Margaret with a suitcase and a scarf wrapped around her head. There were important-looking men milling around the lobby of the building, along with a few police officers and every tenant.

"What's going on?" Clarence asked, stopping the doorwoman with a hand.

"Oh, Clarence, they're closing it down," she said, crying. "The owners fled New York, and these cops just came in and told me to get out, to get everyone out…"

"You mean they couldn't pay for it, so they left all of us to get evicted?!" Clarence fumed.

Just then, an officer took Margaret by the arm. "Thought I told you to get out."

"Please –" Margaret cried.

"_Let go of her_!" Clarence ordered, with more emotion behind it than he usually used around women. He, being his flirtatious self, had mastered charming women, but only en route to _friendship_, never…whatever this feeling was he had for Margaret.

Surprised, the policeman did as he was told.

"Now tell me what's going on." Clarence took his derby in his hand and held it uneasily.

"Just as I heard this little lady explain to you. All of you can go gather your things, and then it's _out_. By tonight, 'less you want to spend it in jail."

"That's ridiculous!" he claimed.

"That's how it is!" the officer countered discourteously. "Now, I suggest you hurry up."

"Middle of January, and you're sending us out in the streets!" one of the other boarders accused. The rest of the men of the building shouted similar things to the officers, while the women and two or three children looked on angrily.

"_Get a move on_!" one of the government officials shouted over the noise.

"Margaret –"

"Get your things," she said, putting a hand on Clarence's shoulder. "I'll see you again. I promise."

"But…"

She blew him a kiss and hurried out.

He trusted that somehow, Margaret would be able to keep her promise.

Clarence and a friend from down the hall, Timothy Miller, moved to Tim's sister's apartment, where she lived with her husband. They got along together, all sharing everything, with the husband working like a dog in a factory miles away to help with the rent. Tim and Clarence couldn't find work anywhere. The group got by for a short six months, until finally, the husband lost his job, as was hoped and prayed against.

The night he'd been laid off, all four of them sat around in the tiny living room.

"…I'll leave," Clarence stated softly.

"No!" the sister pleaded, "You don't have to make yourself homeless for our sake, we'll… we'll get by, won't we?"

The husband looked at his shoes. "It's admirable, Clarence, but we're in this together, and we promised you and Tim that –"

"So keep Tim," he insisted. "I can make it on my own. I'm not family, so I should be the one to go. One less mouth to feed for you three. I'm set on it."

Tim shook his head. "Clarence, it's mad out there."

"I was a banker. You think I don't know?"

"This isn't the time for jokes."

"I'll visit you." That was all he said. He packed his suitcases and left the next morning – July 8th, 1933 – after receiving a tear-soaked hug from Tim's sister, a handshake from her husband, and a pat on the back and a "Good luck" from Tim.

Clarence went with a smile on his face. He may have been throwing himself to the dogs, but he'd done something good. Now it was just a matter of finding a place to sleep, a dollar or two, and food. He walked down 59th.

_This winter'll be tough,_ he thought as he went, _but I'm me, aren't I? I'll find somewhere to go… Somewhere. I've_ _just got to_.

Having nowhere else to go, he and his suitcases walked under the 59th Street Bridge. There, oddly, he found a small wooden bench that he'd never noticed before.

"God is kind," he said to himself with a laugh in his voice, sitting down. "Maybe I could sleep here tonight, and figure something out in the morning."

"Room for one more," a cheery voice said. Clarence jumped.

"Who said that?!"

A tall young man stepped next to him. "I did. Name's Fred." He smiled and offered a hand.

Clarence shook it, noting Fred's worn coat and ripped gloves.

"You sleep under the bridge?" he asked.

Fred gestured grandly to behind Clarence. "Pfft, we all do."

When he turned, Clarence saw a shantytown spread all across the concrete underneath the bridge, backlit by city sunlight coming through gloom. Six more people like Fred (and, now, come to think of it, like himself) smiled and waved at Clarence.

"Welcome to the 59th Street Hooverville," Fred said. "I'm sure you'll be a welcome addition, but we'll have to ask Miss Landlord here…" he elbowed a matronly woman in the ribs, and she smirked at him, stepping towards Clarence and shaking his hand heartily.

"I'm Sophie," she said.

"Unofficial leader," Fred commented.

"That make you my second in command?" she asked.

Fred grinned. "Maybe. I'm your Charles Curtis."

Sophie scoffed. "If I'm Hoover, hang me from a noose."

"You call this a Hooverville?" Clarence asked, amused.

"Oh, yes," Fred said, as a few others behind him nodded. "Only following the trend. And he did send us here to the gutter, don't you know? God's gift to creation, he is." He held his hat to his heart, mockingly serious.

"What's your name, kid?" Sophie asked.

"I'm Clarence Montgomery."

"Well, Clarence, this here's Alice, and there's Eddie, Adam, Louise, and Harry. We're the people of this little setup, but once in a while we get a few…what do you call 'em…_nomadic _homeless. We call 'em Wanderers." With that, Sophie hoisted Clarence off the bench and put an arm around him. "I sure hope you stay."

"He's all packed up to!" the one called Harry said, gesturing to the suitcase. The group laughed.

"So, what do you say?" Alice asked.

Clarence broke into a smile. "Well, if you're gonna be livin' rough, why not do it among friends?"

The others cheered. It was official: Clarence Montgomery was a Hooverville-ite.

They soon found that they all got along well with Clarence. He shared their sense of humor, and they shared everything else. In no time, he knew all their stories, many stock related, and they knew his. It surprised him that each one was like him, having gone from upper or upper-middle class to Hooverville in such a short time.

Living in the shantytown wasn't very difficult until the dreaded New York winter came a few months later. During those months of getting to know each other, every one of them discovered new ways to be resourceful. Some, including Clarence from his suitcase, had a blanket or two. They were passed around. As the weather got colder, they'd run to a city park and try not to get caught breaking branches off trees for firewood. All their money put together (on the day Clarence arrived) added up to $3.27. They used it sparingly, but of course it ran out after a few weeks. There were some kinder people who gave free bread and such to beggars when they went out and about, but for the most part it was theft that filled their stomachs. Newsprint was dubbed "the Hoover blanket," and the 59th Street group gathered more and more of it as the snows crept upon the state.

Yet, through it all, they managed for much of the day to be cheerful, even if that cheer was brought on by cynical jokes regarding their dear old President Hoover and by hopeful remarks about Roosevelt's plans to reform the country.

One cold night, Clarence lay awake, staring at a crack in the concrete of the bridge above him and listening to the sounds of the city at night. He glanced over at Fred, sleeping nearby. It was his night with one of the real blankets – they rotated blankets, clothes, and newspapers each day – and Clarence, though his friend, felt a pang of jealousy.

"…Fred?" he whispered, "Are you awake?"

"…No."

"Swell trick, talking in your sleep."

"Something troubling you?"

"I was just thinkin'…"

"Uh oh."

Clarence chuckled. "Thinkin'…We had everything we could want. Jobs. Apartments. A penthouse, in your case. And we had extra money. We…or at least _I_…thought that all that meant I had a real good life. But now…we've lost everything. But we haven't. All of us are a good fit – we talk and we're pals, and we look out for each other. And even under a bridge in the freezing cold with barely enough food and no money… I feel alright. Sure, I miss it all, especially…" He thought of Margaret, blushed, and skipped over mentioning her. "…I miss it all. But I've still got a good life. I've got a life, anyhow."

Fred took a good look at his friend. "...You're a madman, Montgomery," he teased, turning back to sleeping position.

Just when Clarence thought he was going to leave it at that, Fred finished, "…But you're right."

Clarence smiled into the darkness.

A month or so later, a few days after their encounter with a certain little orphan and their arrest, the 59th Street Hooverville-ites had been released from prison. They'd had an unusually good time there – three square meals, and it wasn't nearly as cold. They broke their promise to the officials at the prison and found a new location for their shantytown.

As they were setting up their makeshift things (this time, the town was behind an abandoned building and, a few feet away, under another bridge), they were oddly jolly.

"Home sweet home," Alice said, done clearing snow away from where they planned to put their "beds." Eddie smiled and clapped her on the back.

"It is," Adam said, spreading their one ragged quilt over the clearing.

"I have to admit," Harry said, "I'll miss the old bridge."

Everyone else murmured in agreement. Clarence looked out at a figure coming towards them. "Looks like Sophie's back."

"I'm back!" Sophie announced in her big voice. The others chuckled. She dropped the contents of her arms in the center of everything. She'd gone back in several trips to the old Hooverville to pick up what was left, and this was the last load.

"Look who I picked up along the way, looking for a place to live," she said, gesturing to another figure in the gloom, catching up with her. "This young lady doesn't have a house, either. But I'm sure we can all give her a home!"

A petite blonde with a suitcase stepped forward shyly. She and Clarence locked eyes.

Clarence stood and ran to her. "_Margaret_!"

She dropped her suitcase and threw her arms around him. The others exchanged looks.

"You know her?" Sophie asked with a little smirk.

"Oh, yes!"

They all sat in a circle, and Clarence and Margaret told them all about how they'd known each other.

"…And here we are," Margaret finished, smiling at Clarence and blushing. "Reunited."

"So, whaddaya think, gang? Is she one of us?" Clarence asked.

The group all spoke at once in complete agreement. Margaret grinned and pecked Clarence's cheek. He reddened, which was unusual for him.

As night started to fall, they huddled around their fire, rubbing at their arms for warmth as they spoke (Margaret was warmest, snuggled up against Clarence). They'd come upon one of their favored topics: the rich people.

"You know Oliver Warbucks?" Margaret began.

"Wish I did; Maybe he'd lend me a few million," Fred joked.

Margaret laughed along with everyone before continuing, "Well, this morning, before we were all taken out of my building…" She looked at Clarence. "I knew better than to protest this time. Anyway, before that, I was listening to the radio, and Warbucks was speaking – him and an orphan girl, she sounded like a real spunky little girl, by the name of Annie –"

"Annie!" the group said at once, with fond recollection.

"The orphan we met the day we got caught!" Fred said with a laugh. "She was somethin'."

"Brightened our day, she did," Sophie said.

"Well, she brightened mine, too," Margaret said, "It must be an omen meant for all of you. In the same little radio set, they sang that old song…" She stood and danced, her voice coming sweet and clear.

"Hey, hobo man,

hey, Dapper Dan –"

The group murmured again with recognition as Margaret continued.

"You've both got your style, but brother,

you're never fully dressed without a smile!"

Clarence stood up next to her and sang for the next verse.

"Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly,

they stand out a mile – but brother,

you're never fully dressed without a _smile_!"

He laughed and twirled Margaret. Alice stood up and started to sing.

"Who cares what they're wearing

on Main Street or Saville Row?"

By now, every Hooverville-ite was up and singing, having the best time they'd had in months.

"It's what you wear from ear to ear  
and not from head to toe  
that matters…  
So, Senator, so, Janitor, so long for a while!  
Remember, you're never fully dressed with…out…a…smile!

Smile! Smile! Smile, darn ya, _smile_!"

This moment brings a bittersweet close to the story of Clarence Montgomery – from upper-class, to lower-class, to poverty, to, in the most unlikely place: friendship, love, and a smile.


End file.
